"Stop looking at me that way, man, I just met her yesterday evening!" Jaime shrugs his shoulders and lifts up his palms, trying to shake off whatever responsibility Sandor wants to throw on him. They are at the back of the house with Brienne, and he's all scowl and dark mood since his encounter with Sansa Stark a while ago.
"And you? She booked a room from you!" Sandor growls at Brienne.
"How could I have known? She used a nickname! And besides, I didn't know I needed to inform you about my guests, Clegane," she spits back.
"A nickname? What nickname?"
"shewolf18 I think, who cares?"
Perfect, he grunts, because the damned name only lacks a red light on it to be more explicit.
"Hey, don't blame her." Jaime comes in from the kitchen with three cold beers just in time to defend his girlfriend. "You know she doesn't have many guests during the week and couldn't say no just because you're an idiot that doesn't like to talk to people," he mocks him. "She is staying for the whole week and we need the money, you know that."
Sandor snorts and stares at the landscape in front of him after taking a long gulp of his beer. He knows damn well he can't blame his friends, but he can't help feeling angry at them for not telling him earlier, for not warning him that his past was about to hit him. He knew someone had come to sell the Stark's House but never in a million years would he have guessed she would be at his friend's house, where he could meet her at any moment. But there she was, a piece of his past thrown at his ugly face in the form of long legged, big blue-eyed Sansa Stark, a flurry of long red hair and kind smile appearing in the living room of Brienne's place to not leave in a week. She was taller than he remembered, older too, not a girl anymore but a woman, now that six years have passed since the last time he last saw her. And beautiful, so beautiful, even with those old clothes full of dust that she was wearing. Sandor wonders what she thought when she saw him standing there, as ugly, scarred, and moody as ever, if she would have felt that she was facing a scary piece of her past that she doesn't want to remember. Yeah, that's it, probably.
However, what angers Sandor more is his own behavior. She wanted nothing to do with him when she still lived in Invernalia and dated Joffrey Lannister, and he probably won't see her again after a week so, why does he feel that way? Why is he so mad at his friends for not warning him? Why does he even care about her reaction? None of that should matter to him. But above all, he is angry because he has just realized that he does care, that Sansa Stark is still a fresh wound in his life that hasn't healed properly and still aches.
It isn't that he hasn't tried. In fact, he has tried hard to forget and leave behind everything related to those fucking days; when Tywin Lannister still ruled the village and Sandor spent the day wandering around with Joffrey and his companions. He left Invernalia that rainy night that still aches, after waiting for hours in front of the Stark house thinking that maybe, maybe, she would also want to fly from that shitty place where nothing good awaited for her. Of course she wanted to, but not with you, fool. Sandor travelled for months to villages, to towns, to big cities, meeting new people with the same disgust on their faces when they saw his scars. The new environments didn't change anything for him as far as dealing with people was concerned, but at least it taught him that the world was bigger than what was ruled by the Lannisters. It also allowed him to learn some useful jobs to make a living and save some money, until a year and a half later, a call from the public notary made him return. With his brother dead under extremely dark circumstances that Sandor never bothered to investigate, the small inheritance from their father passed to him. He sold the old house a bought a new one outside the walls of the village, where he could sit on the back porch to drink a beer quietly and see the fields turn gold at sunset. By then, Sansa Stark had already fled to never return. Months later Ned and Catelyn Stark died in a car accident, and after the funeral, the few Starks that still lived at Invernalia closed the house and left too. Sometime later Joffrey died, Tywin and Cersei moved away to somewhere else and he had lived a quiet and boring life since then. Until that morning, when she burst into his life again, and he still doesn't know how to manage the swarm of feelings that boil inside him.
Sandor takes another gulp of beer and looks at the horizon trying to think about something else, but it's her image that comes to his mind once again. Her hand had felt so soft and small against his… and she had smiled, at least he has to give her that. Joffrey was a bastard and never deserved her. I hope he rots in whatever hell he's in.
It's Jaime who finally makes him return from his thoughts. "Why don't we have a drink this evening? It's too long since we did anything fun and maybe that would change your face. It's like you've licked a lemon!"
Going out or Jaime's silly jokes isn't what Sandor needs, but he could have a drink, or two; anything to not think about the redhead that will be going to sleep under Brienne's roof for the next seven days. "Fine," he finally agrees with a growl, "see you later. Now I have work to do; seems like the electrical installation at the Baratheon's isn't working again. I did really a good job there; I don't know what the hell they did with it after I'm gone."
"Great. Are you coming too?" Jaime asks Brienne while his good hand winds around her waist, pulling her to him. His smile is mischievous and perfect; able to charm anyone he'd wish, his green eyes looking at her playful and full of hidden promises, and his girlfriend blushes and giggles as if it was the first time that he had stared at her that way. It still amuses Sandor how dazzled she still feels by his friend even after all the years that they've been together, as if she still couldn't believe that a man like him could ever lay eyes on someone like her. It's true that she isn't a pretty girl; too tall for a woman, her nose too flat, her shoulders too wide, her blonde hair too short; but he can understand his friend. Jaime could have dated anyone in a thousand mile radius, yes, but none of those girls could have looked at him with half the love Brienne does, not have her honesty. Though sometimes she still drives Sandor mad, he has learned to appreciate her bare sincerity and her true friendship. Also, he knows, too, what it is to feel ugly and friendless until smart, good-looking Jaime Lannister burst into your life.
"Stop, you dummy," she laughs when her boyfriend begins nibbling at her neck, pushing him softly away. "I can't go with you. I have to finish the accounting for the month. Enjoy a boy's night, you two."
"That's a pity…" he says without letting Brienne out of his arms. "Well; I'll pick you up at 8 and we'll go to Val's place then." Sandor rolls his eyes and hurries to the door to escape from the sugary scene he's forced to watch, because today more than ever, he is not in the mood for romanticism.
It's already 8:20 in the evening when they arrive at The Wall. Sandor has spent the afternoon working hard at the Baratheon's; concentrated among cables, plugs and power strips. The family is one of his best clients since they hired him to be in charge of the whole installation of their new business – a fancy shop with expensive gourmet products of the region, like wine, cheese, jam, honey, and olives, where tourists love to spend their money - but they have somehow managed to need to call him almost every week to fix something. He can understand that soft, well-mannered Renly knows nothing that has anything to do with working with his own hands, but at least Stannis should know better. Stannis has always been the hard worker of the family, but it seems the man has inherited the same poor skills of his unfortunate brother Robert where changing a simple bulb is concerned.
Val's bar is the most popular in Invernalia since she opened it a year ago. The place used to be an old butcher's shop that always smelled like hell, but the girl made some repairs in it, keeping some of the old furniture and mixing it with some modern decoration and it turned out that people loved it. It's really a nice place, with wooden shelves full of bottles of wine covering the walls and a good selection of meals; though for Sandor it's simply another place where he can have a beer after a long day of work.
It's Monday and there aren't many people in the bar, so he notices her as soon as they walk through the door. Sansa is sitting at one of the tables, all smiles and animated conversation with that teacher, Dondarrion's girlfriend. She's now wearing a red blouse, blue trousers and flats, her long hair pulled over one shoulder and Sandor needs to suppress a curse when the teacher finally notices them and, waving a hand, shouts a hey guys from where the girls are sitting. Jaime walks to the table with his most charming smile, his hello ladies what a surprise and his tons of good mood and confidence, while Sandor follows him frowning and wondering why in the seven hells does he have to meet her not once, but twice in a day after so many years. Sansa looks surprised or bothered when she sees him – he has never been any good at reading women's expressions – and he just wishes he could to leave that place before it's too late.
"Hi again, Sandor," she says with a kind grin, though she certainly looks as nervous as him. His name still sounds strange to his ears when coming from her lips, as if pronouncing it was the most usual thing in the world for her, and he wonders how many times back then had she called him by his first name, but can't recall any.
He grunts a hi and hurries to the bar to ask for a drink, while the three of them begin talking about everything and nothing, if they are going to order something for dinner and more things Sandor don't want to even listen to. Sansa answers politely all of Jaime's questions about her job, laughs at his silly jokes, and listens carefully to the many and more anecdotes about the village their friends want to share with her. She sips her glass of red wine from time to time, smiles and laughs, changes her hair from one shoulder to the other, and Sandor realizes he's staring at her like he used to do when she was still Joffrey's girl; like something pretty but far from his reach, precious and forbidden, even if he is sharing her table and she is just a few inches away. However, she isn't that frightened teenager anymore; she is six years older now, and smart. Sansa explains that she studied law at college and works now for one of those big law firms in the city where everybody has to wear a dark suit and work for 14 hours a day to make a lot of money. At least one of us managed to succeed out of here, he snorts while looking at her hands against his will to see if there is any kind of ring on them.
You're a fucking creep, Clegane.
Sandor is already feeling that he's going to need more than a beer to bear the night when the door opens again and Podrick Payne comes in to join the party.
Great.
"Sansa Stark!" he shouts to the whole bar, and Sansa runs happily to meet her friend, her face lit-up like a fucking Christmas tree. He hugs her and lifts her and they laugh and seem so happy to see each other that Sandor thinks he could vomit at the silly scene. The boy compliments her shamelessly, gifting her ears with empty words about how beautiful she is, how tall or how men should be lining up in the city to date her, while she giggles and blushes and tells him to stop with no success. When he comes to sit by the table with them, Sandor can't bear it any longer and leaves the table to the bar to ask for another double beer and with no intention to sit back down again.
It's not only that she looks so happy to meet her old friend or so comfortable when he hugs her, he tells to himself. It isn't as if a dark hidden part of him wishes that she had done the same when meeting him that morning - though nobody has had that effusiveness with him ever and even less the courage to be any near to the hideous scars of his face. It's not that Pod Payne is comely to look at and funny and Jeyne Poole's best friend, or that he has flirted with and dated half the girls in Invernalia with those same silly words he's using now with Sansa. He knows it isn't even that despite the latter, he still pleases everybody and has plenty of friends and is making her laugh and smile as he has never seen her before. No, it isn't any of that, Sandor reminds to himself. What really angers him is that he seems to be the only one out of place there, the only one whose guts are aching since this morning and nobody seems to be willing to stop the events from breaking him apart.
Sandor is drinking alone at the counter, his back turned to them, listening to the happy scene from afar and cursing his luck when Sansa shows up at the bar, an empty glass at her hand and a nervous smile on her lips asking Val for a refill. She waits for her wine by his side, her arms resting on the bar, tapping on the wooden counter with her fingertips.
"Are you never talking to me again?" she finally says turning to face him, her kind voice breaking the silence. She is looking at him with those big blue eyes of hers that seem to give nothing away, without any sign of disgust on her face, curious or maybe amused about what could be his answer.
"So, you didn't return to attend your parents' funeral, but you come back to sell their house…"
He knows her grin is fading before he has even finished the sentence. Her gaze hardens and she frowns angrily, and Sandor would like to regret his words because he knows they sting. However, he doesn't; disappointment and annoyance is something he does know how to deal with and though deep inside him something wants to see her smile again, he prefers it that way. At least, he is more used to that than to cheerfulness and small talk.
"You know, I've feared coming back for days. Now I know why."
Expecting her words doesn't make them hurt any less. The kindness is gone and her pretty face matches the hard tone of her voice and he realizes that the kind, soft-spoken Sansa Stark he knew six years ago would have never talked to him that way. He realizes that he may like her better now, although he's aware that that's probably the end of any kind of relationship they could ever have during the next days. Sansa has already taken her glass and has walked two steps towards the table to join her friends when she stops to turn and look back at him.
"You don't know everything that happens in this village. Take that into account the next time you try to judge me, Clegane," she spits back, and with that she finally goes back to sit with the others but Sandor notices how she doesn't laugh anymore.
"What the hell did you say to the girl, you jerk?" Jaime reproaches him once in the car as he drives him back home. "I already knew you weren't the king of parties but at least you could have kept your mouth shut for once and not spoil her the evening. She's not to blame for your twisted mind!"
Sandor doesn't want to listen to him, nor has anything to add. His mood is getting darker and he just wants to be left alone.
"Listen; try not to scare her anymore, OK? I don't want her leaving Brienne's and booking a room somewhere else just because of your big mouth."
Sandor snorts as an answer and finally steps out of Jaime's car when it comes to a stop in front of his house. The day has been shitty and all he longs for now is to fall asleep lulled by the beer he has drunk until next morning, wishing not to see Sansa Stark for the rest of the week.
